Burn it All
by BumbleLellie
Summary: Daryl and Beth- set after 'Alone' kind of my own take on the whole Bethyl emotional thing from a place Daryl could be. So even though the sun was coming up and he had literally hells chance on earth of getting her back he didn't stop and he wouldn't stop. Because she had changed everything.
1. Chapter 1

_**This shall be part of a mini-series that's more contemporary for me as it's based of season 4.2, but I'm doing my own thing a little bit xxx**_

And he ran. And he kept running, though his everything ached and he had nothing at all. An old version of himself would have told to give up, go on alone and deal with the consequences in his unconscious mind for a few weeks. Her death wouldn't have bothered him, because in his head he had tried, but the car had disappeared. There was nothing more to do. But he wasn't his old self, he was who he was. So he ran, and he kept running.

He didn't let himself think about how it was his fault again, just like back at that prison. She told him that wasn't his fault, so he believed she wouldn't think this was his fault either. So even though the sun was coming up and he had literally hells chance on earth of getting her back he didn't stop and he wouldn't stop. Because she had changed everything.

When they first got away from the prison they pulled each other along, barely existing on the broken revenants of their own sharp pain. She wasn't like him, and so she could never understand him. His problem was the opposite he was too exposed and cocooned in his own emotion to get a good enough analysis of hers. Everything she did jarred with him, it was wrong, all wrong. He selfishly and sadistically wanted more that the weak blonde. It sounded harsh, but she didn't deserve to live not like her father or her sister or the others. Beth wasn't close to him, he could have let her go and forgotten about it without a second thought. But now she was here, he felt obligated to keeping her alive, not that he had to be kind to her.

She told him to look for the others, he politely implied a 'fuck off' message in his tone, choosing instead to go back to his default of roaming round the Georgia woods. Only he dragged the reluctant teen with him, not for a single comment considering that she could be right. Find the others was her idea, he scoffed in his head. He focused then only on the green foliage, on food and danger, killing either. Until they got to the train tracks.

It still surprised him the depth of that girl's empathetic nature after losing everyone and everything she had ever had. Gnawed bits of strangers lay in front of her, and she cried for them, probably a little for herself too. And the act stuck in his throat a bit like a sharp knife, making him wonder if that's what he was supposed to do when he saw a mutilated body or two.

She didn't care if he could see her, and that open vulnerability scared a recluse like him. He simply stood there and watched her cry, but she didn't care at all. The pain seemed to replenish her, give her back some perspective and meaning to it all, as if before she was fading into cold numbness like him.

Her shoulders shook, whitish blonde waves obscuring her scrunched up face messily. And he couldn't say in that moment he felt anything much stronger than identification and annoyance. He didn't want to hold her in her arms as she looked like a little child crying over the spilt milk, but these were spilt people, and they never went back in the carton. Jean clad legs shook even with the mixture of exhaustion and emotion. She had cracked the mould of prison Beth.

''I don't cry anymore, Daryl.''

He hated her sweet high tones, the way her name sounded on her tongue. It sounded too innocent and sweet, the way his name sound never sound. Because he wasn't. he was dying inside but he had no way of showing it because she was doing the emotional outbursts for him. he was festering with insane anger at the world, but why shouldn't he be?

It hit him then that he was in flight mode, pulling them away from the pain to wander around as if it would stop him thinking about it. But he hadn't stopped thinking, not at all. She served as a reminder of the humanity he didn't have. Because he didn't want to like people again, not when they could be torn from him so easily. He vowed to never let anyone back into his space, he could be his own everything and eventually the girl would die or join some others to die with them. Only he never expected her to be so frustratingly un-ignorable like that, hadn't accounted for her weaving herself into his fragmented devotion.

He still hated her sometimes, she was bratty and spoilt, in a completely innocent way of the privileged. This world wasn't for the wholehearted bible lovers like her. Her very existence was the antithesis of him. He'd watch her weave herself under and around hanging branches, trying to merge with the woods as unsuccessfully as she did with the apocalypse. He saw that as a weakness. He saw her as a weakness. She was emotion personified. Emotion was weak, emotion was foolish, emotion got you killed. He wasn't scared of anything but he didn't want to die.

And she tried to leave. That hit him like cold, icy water. This little spineless thing was defying him in every way, throwing her snake barbeque out of the pram to storm off for big girl juice. We fuck her, he didn't care. Except Herschel came into his head, and that obligated feeling sunk back in. so he went out after her, watching her deter the walkers with pebbles. Pebbles only work on small groups, stupid girl.

Somehow she got the upper hand, swearing at him and stropping until he was following her around the whole damn place looking for drinks and taking down threats to her life without so much as a bit of gratitude. She coated herself in blood, and then changed. And then he coated her in blood, and he got a glare.

Beth sitting dejectedly at a bar made him realise what all of this was to her. When Herschel flashed in his mind before it wasn't really consequence of thinking they were related and she would be hurting over his death too. But he didn't want that bond with her, or any bond. Maybe, if he got her drunk- then she would let him call the shots.

And it all changed with that fucking game. The moonshine never sat right with him, the environment making him feel like a caged animal- right back into the unrelenting manipulation of his father's control. Except she was his father in this. She had the upper hand, the ability to look down on him. Even though he had saved her fucking life countless times by now, if he had left her she'd be dead within a heartbeat. She thought so low of him. Because he showed her so little of the goodness in him?

It was all too much. He remembered shouting at her, yelling awful things to her worried face. She simply sat there looking up through hurt eyes at him like a broken child. And that only made him angrier, because she was so vulnerable right now, she lost as much as he did but he couldn't have it in him to be nice. So he drank and shouted, just like his father would have done. And in that moment he thought he could do no worse thing, then he did what he did next. He hurt her.

He pulled her arm up, grabbing her around the shoulders to pull her outside roughly. He didn't really care if his fingers left small bruises on her pale arms, the idea in fact excited him in a sick way knowing she'd remember every time she saw them. She would be scared of him and stop being such a bitch, it was as simple as that.

It was her fault the prison fell and the rest of his family were dead. She didn't do anything to help them prepare for the governor. She let her guard down. She couldn't defend herself, couldn't save the lives of the others anymore. And he hated her for it, what's worse he hated her for not being the one who did those things. He did.

So he pulled her close to him, throwing his weapon in front of her, shooting the walker. Looking back now it was another pawn for him to hurt. Beth and the walker were his targets for aggression. Because they were around, because he needed to not be angry at himself anymore. The arrow held it to the tree, and her yellow shirted screams went unheard.

Beth Greene had an insatiable appetite for loving others. This factor wasn't something he was used to, but suddenly he was the one being cared about. His bluff was being pulled out right from under him. She told him that he cared, that she know how he saw her. Just another dead girl. He couldn't deny it, her thoughts were right and he hated how transparent eh was to her. His imposed walls of self-isolation seemed to have met a formidable match in her fiery embrace. And he broke down, letting the pressure of her awkward embrace give him a form of comfort and grounding him to his pain.

That's when the shift began, she became a real human not some person he was dragging along. She was somewhere between existing and being some sick hallucination talking to him. Opting for the latter he gave her a bit of him, hoping it could quell the past he had done. She took it, folded his pieces away and placed them carefully in a padlocked pocket.

He remember her shiny face in the moonlight, still sipping moonshine for the electric high alcohol gave drink virgins for the first time. She smiled sweetly, laughing at her own morbidity and facing it as fact. Only she didn't cry about it, she looked him cold in the eyes and said it all.

''We should burn it down.''

And together they did, laughing at the smell of the moonshine hitting the ceiling. Smiling as they lit the wad of cold hard cash that meant nothing now that they had it, throwing it and watching the place burn down. In that moment of youthful rebellion he was a teenager again, and it might have all been different. Her middle finger was stuck up, the image of awkward uprising, smiling at him for him to join in. so he did. And it felt pretty damn sweet.

What she had over me was myself, he realised. They would walk for hours in almost compatible timings. He began to open up, staring teaching her to work the crossbow and took up telling her random stories of her past in exchange for her own. They still had no purpose, but they walked anyhow. She didn't bring up the others, and he didn't bring them up either.

Daryl and Beth were of the same feather of different birds. Her softness totally negated every part of hi exterior existence. But her temper was just as bad as his was, she could dish his own treatment back to him faster than anyone else ever had. You got her riled up and she voiced her opinions, assertively perhaps not aggressively as he did. But she wasn't afraid, and frankly that's till pissed him off a bit. The fear meant he could win, but there was no fear only sorrow. They were both ignorant of this feeling. Their compatibility fell perfectly into their ability to crate routines of arguments, silence and fun. Cyclical and simple for them both. It was simple to see where they stood now, not for anyone outside looking in, but they could. And that was all that mattered.

It seemed a natural shift, not a necessary burden to give her a 'serious' piggy back to the house. The uncomfortable feeling he got holding her hand at a grave stone came not from the symbolic action of friendship, or closeness, or human contact. But instead it came from her warm dry skin making his own tingly in lit up nerve endings.

The next place they found was big and empty. The unusualness of the clean and trap like structure should have clued him in a lot sooner that this trap was far more elaborate that honey not vinegar. But they remained within the infrastructure letting the trap tick down to its detonation. Because he could almost see a home here with her.

Furthermore her haunting voice filled up the old emptiness of rooms, forcing the piano keys to play slow sad songs. She needed that, and she looked composed, almost reanimated again. Sometimes Beth acted like a puppet, saying and doing only what she was told. Prison Beth he couldn't find in freer Beth. Her marionette strings were severed and she played alone now. So he sked her to, using her release of tension to pull him to another restless rest.

They sat at this white table in the kitchen, eating peanut butter out of tubs and discussing plans. Susrprising himself he suggested they stay, knowing and caring that it would mean a lot to her. Beth wasn't the type to run forever like he was, she wasn't the type to live off the ground and he didn't want her to. For the first time he felt like he saw her, her emotion was what kept her strong out there- she only wanted to find others to have that sense of family and familiarity. He wanted that too, a bit further down behind the self-loathing.

She picked up on this asking him innocently what changed his mind, he didn't have an answer so he simply stared tactlessly until she got it. Her cheeks went pink and it was worth the embarrassment. Instantly forgetting what the reason was for not getting too close to people was again.

And then it all went wrong. And then he was running.

His legs felt like jelly, the road split into two. He didn't know anymore, which way was the way to freedom, and which was the way to her? He collapsed under the weight of himself and it all. Breaking down at the thoughts of her. Her hurt eyes as he told her he never cut himself for attention like she did, the way she still hugged and held him after those awful, awful things he only half-meant and was never meant to say aloud. And then she smiled as he carried her around, the same smile she gave to the idea of burning an entire home down with spirit even though it was the only shelter for miles. Finally that last smile at the table, the seamless beauty of her annoy imperfection that made her so much more human than his flaws made him. Her voice was seemingly detached and next to him. He knew she was out there somewhere, calling his bluff and loving that she was right, even if he'd never admit it.

''You're gonna miss me so much when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon.''


	2. Chapter 2

_**I was really very much hoping for there to be a bit more Beth before October, but since that hasn't happened I guess I'm starting up my own little story…again…*nervous smile* Thank you to all those who had instant faith in this story, sorry it's been a while since I did anything. xxx**_

He didn't think the voices were real when they spoke to him, tried to harbour him in their little group like he was one of them. What was it Joe called him- an outdoor cat? And he guessed in this new age the outdoor cats took supremacy and fucking banded together. Mostly.

Guys like these, like him- they didn't bond well with others, and they certainly fared no better in bonding with each other. Death, lies, and destruction were what they were weaned on, fed and bred for a world of pain. Only now they had the walkers to kill with knives instead of their livers with whiskey. It would result in the same way though, he knew that much. All these guys living together, didn't take an educated man to see where the fault in the plan was. Leather jackets and armed to teeth. Maybe once he was one of them, sure he'd admit to that- but he wasn't one of them anymore. Something had changed the man who had never changed.

It wasn't joining a group- no, not at all. He wouldn't, or perhaps he couldn't, see it like that. His group were out looking for him like he was for them. His group was spread across Georgia. His group had been murdered by the governor. His group was in the back of a car somewhere being driven off. Daryl was a loyal man, loyalty got you far in life- it was honourable and the only thing of worth fucking Merle ever taught him. He learnt other things himself.

Everyone had regrets in life, everyone had things they'd do differently. Beth was becoming one of those, the new image that haunted his usual cold and light sleep. The pain of her flittering in his mind was more than any beating or pain he had felt. It was guilt- he could've done something more.

When the governor attacked that last late afternoon, all he could think about was how he hadn't tried hard enough to track him. _**Maybe if he hadn't stopped looking-**_ and now he was on that damned loop again. Knowing he already had stopped looking for Beth, that really he was too scared to be alone so he let himself be forced in with these pitiful creatures instead.

It was dark, and his head was groggy but too light to be normal. He sat up, needing to drift off into the wood and calm himself down a while- there wasn't going to be any sleep for him until he could believe that he _**would**_ find her. And the trees were tall and encompassing, as if nothing else calm existed outside their noble encasement. He was a man of the forest and of the woods, he grew up in them, and so they offered an additional calmness to his nature. The only place he was safe from it all, growing up and now.

He simply knew she was there before her could know, and perhaps that was the first sign of madness. She was crouched against a tree, stained yellow polo shirt and all. He stared at her, and she stared back. Blonde hair in that same half-up and half-down pony tail, little plait probably hidden in the flaxen mess. He frowned and walked over, offering a hand to her.

She took is so lightly that it might not be there, and suddenly little tears grabbed the corner of her eyes. She wrapped her little arms around him, and like always in these times he hated her touch but somehow found it less repulsive than when anyone else dared touched him. Over her small frame he could see the surrounding woods, its greenness and the beginning of lighting skies. He didn't move, just letting her be there.

''You haven't found me.'' Her voice was small and mumbled into his chest, right next to where the main muscle sat, pumping blood around a body that had no reason to want to be there. She was sad, he knew that voice it was the same one she used months ago, talking about the others and her lost hope for normality. Beth Greene what had she done to him.

''I'm looking fer ya','' he held her then, wrapping his arms back around her, holding her close to give him something to go off. She was too perfect almost, here but not here, exactly as he left her- and so how could she be real? But she was solid, and warm to him. He had to make her the promise, in hope that somewhere the real Beth was hearing his voice and fought in resolute optimism. Someone would save her. They would, _**he**_ would.

He felt like clutching onto her, holding her face in his hands and staring forever. Instead he chided himself pitifully, knowing he would see her non-existence. He couldn't cope with losing her again- not yet. So he held her a while longer. So he kept his arms locked, and looked over her head.

''Yer alive Beth, I know y'are- you're gonna be the last one standing remember?'' His voice was small and cracking, pleading with her to be alright. Though how could she promise him that?

''That was about you.'' She sighed, a melancholy smile playing on her lips as he remembered. The moonshine, the drunken mutterings and that crazy rebellious smile. They were more alike than not, in that moment, so he prayed that meant she shared some indestructibility.

He held tighter her then. Giving into the feeling of his body to the resistance of his mind. It was going to hurt to not have her. Hell, it already hurt. And he was fucking sick of feeling like everyone's damn babysitter all the time. Couldn't anybody around here wipe their own arse and keep themselves alive? But she was an exception- he found after a while he didn't mind looking after Beth. In fact she made it kind of fun. She was so fucking pathetic but endearing in way that took others no time to warm up to. Wherever she was now, he hoped she was using that to her advantage.

''Save me.''

Her voice was gentle and soft, he saw the same eyes he had seen at the table of the funeral home. She had total faith in him, and somewhere she was in trouble, or struggling maybe even dead. But he wouldn't stop now, never stop until he saw her either dead or alive.

Beth walked of slowly, looking over her shoulder to invite him to join her. He followed a pace behind, relishing the bitter thoughts of how she once ran off in such similar woods in the hope she could numb herself. He hadn't let her go then, and he couldn't now. Rabbits played off in the distance, he slowed his steps, but she didn't noiselessly striding over. She knelt down next to the bunnies, a little way off, patting their heads and holding it in place for him to catch. Her small hands stroked and the animal seemed unperturbed, it didn't even see his bolt hit it. She smiled briefly, knees on the floor at the dead animal that could feed them both half the day or so.

And then the dash of a black arrow hit her in the stomach, she knelt, blood pooling and eyes rolling back. His body went cold. And then he realised is own bright arrow in her neck, mouth gasping and falling still. The beautiful face empty and dead, messy hair splayed around her as if she was in some dreamy spell and not dead- she couldn't be- oh God, oh God he had killed her. He realised those little arms couldn't hold him reluctantly anymore.

Snapping his head back frantically to the source of the arrow was the other bowman form the group he had adopted, bow raised still and sick prideful smile on his features. Daryl wanted to kill him right there. But his attention went back to Beth, barely a second had gone by but she was gone.

He didn't even get to say goodbye.

He turned round sharply, glaring at the man before walking over to pull the arrow out of the dead rabbit. He didn't even care anymore wasn't even listening to himself and the man violently expel words at each other. It didn't matter, nothing mattered.

''The rules of the hunt dint mean jack out here,'' surprisingly the bowman had hit the nail on the head of what Daryl was feeling. As if he knew there wasn't any reason for any custom. But still they followed them, they should follow them. Customs gave back a sense of humanity, the only thing left to distinguish him from a walker.

Then he kept talking, some shit that Daryl couldn't give two tosses about. The only thing going through his mind was you made me murder Beth. The man tried to grab the rabbit, Daryl pulled back sharply.

''It ain't yours.'' He was being childish. He could easily catch something else, he wasn't even hungry. But it was the closest thing to Beth in some sick way. That man didn't get to have it. He murdered Beth. It was men like him who took perfectly good people and destroyed them, left them for dead.

''I bet, there's a bitch that's got you all messed up. Hmm, am I right? Got you walking around here like a dead man, lost yourself a piece of tail- must've been a goodun'. Tell me something was it one of the littlun's 'cause they don't last too long out here?'' He smirked, settling into his own dark chuckle laughter because the look on Daryl's face was easy enough to read.

He wasn't talking about Beth, he simply, no, he couldn't be. Not at all. He didn't know Beth, couldn't say she was dead. _**He didn't know that! **_He glared daggers at the man because he was the one who didn't know. He set himself up to be an enemy, wanted Daryl to hate him. And so he would.

Hearing Beth be spoken about made every part of him boil over, she was meant to be some inside secret, one that never got out. He didn't know how he felt about her now, only that she was a hell of a lot less annoying than when he was first stuck with her. God, what he'd give to have her hear asking after booze so he could yell at her, so he could hate her. Anything but this.

He missed being the hunter. Tired of being hunted and broken and bruised. Pent up in a corner made him nasty and beastly, he knew this, and certainly soon the bowman would. The truth had been spoken. The bowman said 'the littlun's don't last too long'. He once said 'I don't think the good ones survive'. And she was both little and good.

Daryl hated this, being stuck in this godforsaken place losing all of himself. He was scared, though he swore to not be afraid of anything. She had been right the whole time, she had seen it and it was no surprise to him that others might see it too. When Sophia died he swore he wasn't going to let anyone in ever again. And then the prison had given him too much hope, he had thought and believed that it might be invincible, that they had a chance. Somehow that's the most dangerous thing to believe in. So never again, not ever. And then Beth.

_**God-forbid you ever let anyone get too close.**_

Daryl knew this was war.

He saw the mutilated face of the one who claimed the rabbit. His own arrow in his eye. Bloodied and beaten, and Daryl thought he only half deserved it. He was allowed to want that guy dead- but that was no reason that the others should feel the same. An absurd desire to cover the man went through is body, a little voice telling him to honour the dead. He knew it was the little changes in him that she had brought.

He set off down the train tracks, following the others in blind abandon. He didn't know where to head, hell, he didn't know where to start at all. Footstep after footstep of hopelessness, just like before. He may as well be a walker. Then he saw her, stood on the grassy verge where the grass met the trees. He walked quicker to meet here, closing the distance, watching her over his shoulder as she disappeared into the distance. She'd reappear again, in front this time, just where his eyes could focus on breeze blown hair and a stone-set face. Again and again he passed her.

_**The signs are there, you just have to know how to look for them.**_

Hope you enjoyed guys xxx Review if you like, they make me happier than anything else!


	3. Chapter 3

_**I'm back! Anyway sorry about any errors it's too bright to see the screen of the laptop with much clarity so checking has been really hard! Hope you enjoy! xxx**_

Herschel had looked at his daughters exclusively. Then he had looked at the prison as a whole, the last place he made home. And he was alright with that, his time had come and God would foresee his rendering. The cold blade struck him with fear, as it would any man, but he smiled. It was his time, and he trusted those he loved to look after those he loved. A long time ago, many miles on foot and months of searching Hershel Greene was a changed man- he grew his hair, a beard and lost a leg, but the inner moral light never faded. Never, until the blade hit his neck and the life of one of the most honest men Daryl had ever known was gone.

He woke up from the dream, shaking and wanting to vomit. When _**she **_wasn't busy plaguing him, someone else always was. Dreams, thoughts and in every little task he did. Daryl saw them all, and he hated how it was slowly become less numb as the days passed by. The depression was coming off, the years of repressing hardships too hard to face because the monotony of life left him nothing to do but think about these things. Death, pain and loss.

He could just about stand thinking of the others, when it didn't catch his off guard in his subconscious. Herschel, Rick, Carl, Michonne- all the others he may never see again. But was it selfish for that to be ok. She had asked him to find the others, she had needed that comfort. But he denied that to her- wanting to pity himself and cut the pain of finding them turned. Sometimes he caught himself thinking what would have happened if the two of them had turned back to the prison, started tracking like she prayed he would to find her sister, her baby, her family. Perhaps they would've been able to protect her the way he didn't.

And now here he was, back into the thoughts he couldn't stand. The ones that made him feel like a tonne of lead and thin as paper all at once. He didn't keep her safe. He lost her. And out there someone else had her- for whatever reason, and he wasn't even searching for her. He imagined her as he knew her; perfect in the tanned look days of dirt gave her and the light stain of sweat on that yellow polo. She'd be sat somewhere, singing to herself- that much he knew must be true. In his head she wasn't dead until he saw the body, and so he wasn't looking for her, so he could never see it.

Joe's group walked down the road, they were following some revenge mission of their own whilst Daryl pained to think of his own not in action. He knew they were getting closer, gaining on whoever Joe wanted dead- he could tell by the tracks more accurately than any of the other men. But he kept his mouth shut letting them find out for themselves.

From the top of the hill you could see two cars in the distance, not together but near enough that from here they came as small dots on the road. It was enough to make them walk a bit quicker, to take on step because it was the ideal place to spend a night after all. The first car was about 200 metres from the next. It was long and dark, dirty with the Georgia dust and all doors were open, trunk popped open too. Daryl knew this car. It was the same car as in all his dreams, the one he burned to his eyelids as he chased after it. Running, always running.

His first reaction was to be fucking pissed. He gave up on deciding to find her whilst constantly planning on finding, and now he stumbled upon the first solid evidence that she was in fact findable after all. But he knew the anger stemmed from his own guilt, his own crippling fear that he hadn't tried hard enough- and maybe if he had kept running he would've been here sooner. And the fear came over him for another reason- the blood.

Blood wasn't a strange thing to see, not in his childhood and the copious amounts he saw nowadays meant it didn't bother him. When thinking about the browning stains in the trunk of the car however- that made his stomach clench. Red blood was for the living, black blood was for the dead.

It was stagnant, lost in its own void of time. Leaving this car, for whatever reason they had, was a hasty decision made under duress with injury. Joe and the others had started moving in the encroaching darkness, continuing up the road and Daryl slipped round the other side of the vehicle to follow the hasty tracks left behind. Intermingled in the tangle he saw the distinct limped print of a blonde in cowboy boots and it hastened his pace. Her tracks, so distinctive to him were thankfully mixed up underneath the others- she was ahead of them, running by the looks of it to get away.

The loss of light made it difficult to follow, hard to go after her and find the direction exactly. But the trees were so thick it was impossible, and they didn't hide the questioning calls of Joe's group who had doubled back to find him. He knew they were after him to ask questions, and he knew he couldn't live with himself if he didn't follow the trail. But it stopped.

The bark of a tree was torn up from a knife of some sort, once tacky blood from perhaps days ago left in the absence of the bark. Red blood. The outline of a small bloodied handprint and more strains on the ground in that same shade. He tried to think of what happened.

Beth struggled to keep running, her legs aching from being shoved in the car. And then she had injured someone, or someone else had done it for her- they left their blood spurting into the trunk she had been confided to. Burning and pain all over, ankle particularly and loneliness. They were following her, the bleeding one included. It was his blood on her hands, if God could give him that much, if not a small injury of her own that made the palms crimson and she held onto the tree to stable herself. They had caught her, wrestled her down to stop her disobedience. The thoughts of her high voice screaming for help or gasping in discombobulated confusion. Why was this happening to her? Where was Daryl? Where was God?

He shook his head, realising he was alone and the trail had gone cold. The floor of the woods had turned to gravelly, unwatered mud- hard and unrelenting to footsteps being shown this many days after the incidence occurred. What was the point of guessing a direction? Joe's group must have turned back and headed for the other car, he decided that walking that way he could check the dimmed floor for any signs of movement whilst trying to figure out if leaving was a good enough idea. Did he trust his own abilities to track, save and then live with the blonde girl?

With his thoughts all on Beth meeting up to Joe terrorising Rick was something that hit him like lightening. Michonne, Carl and fucking Rick Grimes- who would've fucking thought? Joe was holding them, threatening and shouting things that didn't make sense- couldn't possibly make sense at all. Rick had killed one of Joe's men. This was revenge, and Daryl was on two sides of the line simultaneously piecing together what he had missed.

Rick looked just as confused as he did, Michonne giving some weird untrusting look that he didn't blame. And they all hoped the words would be enough. _**These were good people, he knew them. **_And murder was going to be self-defence, it wasn't as cold hearted as black and white. He knew Rick. But he knew Joe too, the ruthlessness behind the good fella fade. He took Daryl in, and maybe once the Dixon brothers might have happily coincided there with the other cats. Maybe the inside had made him soft, because he didn't back down under that look.

''This man killed our friend. You say he's good people. '' Joe faced him, boring his eyes into his like everyone else's were. Somehow Daryl felt like a tiny school boy facing his father again, being told to back down but at the same time being so big everyone can see you and stare as he'll make it hurt. Die or life with yourself for letting them die.

''Now you see, that- that right there is a lie'' Joe sounded unsure, his eyes lost in the same confusion they were all feeling here about the random interconnection of events. But the coldness of the life before and after was something Daryl could understand far too easily, he grew up as an outdoor cat after all.

He didn't really hear the next sentence, didn't need to after all he had seen the bowman's death. The first punch, if he was honest, caught him in the back of his neck and threw him off. The subsequent beatings only really blinding painful him from so long suffering mental pain instead so that he had forgotten what a fight really felt like. Since Merle's death, there was little reason to fight someone. He thought he heard the rough accent of Rick calling out, perhaps in was just the discombobulation from his head hitting the paint-peeling truck.

Everyone was fighting everyone in this moment, a shot sounded and people were no longer anything but indistinguishable from one another anymore. Daryl's eyes were bleared and he kept his head down to protect it, praying to god he wouldn't be killed with his own arrow like the insensitive sonofbitches did to the bowman. Draw a parallel here, and then end it you are not going to die.

It was too quick to know what was going on, too many things happening at once and yet the world felt trapped in its own little freeze frame. For the first time Daryl was glad he didn't have Beth with his. The thought of her made him look up. And he saw what everyone seemed to see. Rick biting Joe's neck, and spitting it on the ground. Time froze and for a moment everyone stopped to simply stare at the devolution of humanity in all its glory. _**These were good people**_, but Daryl wasn't so sure of that anymore. Daryl finished the fight, using the scuffle to gain advantage and his own past to fight past the boundaries of normal pain. Only for him to turn back panting to the scene in front of him.

Rick stabbing away at the chubby man's throat, the look on Carl's face and Michonne's arms around him. Again and again and again. Like some hypnotic picture book of memories.

Daryl had never felt less human in his life.

Sleep was uneasy for the two that tired and too terrifying for the two that remained up. With little care, but great unease, Daryl pulled the bodies into the woods. Out of sight, out of mind. He stabbed them all in the head should they turn and felt a strange urge to salute the harbouring family that took him in, gruffness and all, after hours upon hours of running down the same greying tarmac road. They brought him home, unwittingly and now a choice had to be made.

He wanted to tell Rick about Beth. How he had failed her and wanted to look for her, only he knew he wouldn't say that instead hoping he could make it Rick's idea so he could keep appearances of not caring about anything up. There was no way he could think of explaining why he had to find her, not even to himself let alone out loud. So when he was finally asked, when he finally sat down next to the man he had once developed a trust in and was meant to say where he had been, to justify himself he knew there was nothing to do but let himself down.

_**I lost Beth**_.

It sounds like nothing. The emotion unregistered in his tone, because he's so so tired and he can't do this anymore- he wants her back, but admitting it outside of himself is weakness. It damns her. The minute he says he wants to find her karma will kill her, the minute he says he won't look for her he resigns himself to the ownership of her death. And when Beth Greene dies, Daryl dies.

Either way she dies. And so either way so does he.

_**Hope you enjoyed, now easter is nearly over I should be updating a bit more but reviews and feedback keep me happy! xxxx**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hey guys, finished you your next chapter! Ooh isn't that nice of me- I shall treat myself to a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit xxx hope you enjoy and thank you for all the support (it means a lot- you should get bickies and tea too) **_

You were meant to save her, to run to the edge of the world in search and beyond that. In all those books that she read alone at night in her room with an old flashlight, that's what the hero would have done. They wouldn't have this crippling fear, this inability to go chasing after her with reckless abandon. Because not finding her was scary, and finding her was even more terrifying.

He's back at noon, the night of events left Michonne and Carl unmoving in the truck, and Rick in the same stupor in which he had been left. And Daryl was fucking pissed. The pity-party had finally broken and his rage was seeping out of every pore, mostly at himself for having the damn balls to let her go for so long. He was going to find Beth- you bet yer ass he was.

Michonne noticed the storming change of character, the way he held himself and sensing it would bring no good to the stretched limits of the groups wits she removed herself from the truck. He threw a pair of rabbits into the dust at Rick's feet, the days hunt and their dinner smacking to the dirt with an unsavoury squelch. It was enough to make the point, but the loud bang of hit punching the broken trucks hood was an added bonus for the silence to be broken.

''Found a trail leadin' t'Beth. Wipe yer own asses if yer comin' with-'' her snarled angrily, kicking the ground and picking up his crossbow from where he had put it down before his outburst. He slung it over his shoulder and gave a stance similar to a stubborn teenager.

''Beth- Maggie-Beth, that Beth?'' Carl's voice seemed higher and younger than Daryl remembered form the prison. He was broken in a way Dixon thought the youngest grimes would never be broken- the sprit was waning. But a renewed vigour of confused hope in his voice made Daryl less annoyed t hearing the pain affiliated with her name, enough to not storm off but give a curt nod instead.

With confirmation Carl only nodded back, pushing his hat back with purpose and moving his knife from its sheath to stand nearer to Daryl, avoiding him mostly due to the still obviously flaring temper. Michonne strapped her katana back on, pulled the belt holes of her jeans and re-did the laces of her boots. Her hand rested on Carl's shoulder and I was her who looked into the emotional mask of Rick Grimes face.

There were no more clues in the clearing as there had been in the dusk. Not that it was expected, he had bypassed the car despite the others interest. Not wanting to face that particular nightmare again, because all he saw was the blood and it driving away. The hard ground gave him nothing to go off, but hunting earlier and a bit of common sense made him point his way and that was the choice. After an hour or so the lack of evidence was less that encouraging, seeming to only fuel the never-ending pool of anger in his stomach. They had all stopped trying to reason with him, or even talk to him instead just following obediently in silence so he wouldn't flip out at anyone- again.

The terrain turned softer, the end of the mud to a soil based floor that hurt less on the feet. However upon this comfort led two obvious paths to pick. One slanted to the right, whilst the other to the left. Depending on where you wanted to go with your kidnapped woman either required a small climb up or down the staggered planes ruined by years of Georgia storms.

Beth stood in the trees, he back against the bark casually as if waiting for him to stumble upon her. When he jerked his head to the right and started clambering the small climb to even ground he heard the others mutter. The hunter instincts were almost training for this exercise, for that he was sure. Daryl could look at the ground and tell you the kind of man that stood there hours previous, likewise he could pick up the speckle of brown blood stains from where she had leant whilst climbing, a captor in front and a captor behind. But finding that meant nothing, not until this motivation.

She looked up at him from where he crouched inspecting the mossy ground. The damn hair playing in the sunlight the way it used to so he could barely damn focus on keeping them safe. The light streamed through it like the sun through the leafy canopies overhead, a second filtration to fall upon his face. She simply smiled at him, stepping back as he stretched back up, falling into rhythm beside him. He missed her noise. His Beth didn't make noise, he couldn't hear her moan about blisters or being a reformed vegetarian, not to mention the lack of her incest humming he swore he hated before all this- hell, even worse the sweet caterwauling. Perhaps even just the sound of her old cowboy boots next to his. But no, his Beth was a poor imitation of the real thing.

Merle had once goaded him up a cliff face, loud noises and insults being shouted in his face- but never touchable. Merle was never tangible to his fingertips as she was. Maybe that meant she was closer, or maybe it meant he had fucking lost it for good.

He sniffed loudly, taking over a brisker pace. Michonne trailed behind him, her arm around Carl still and the other dragging an ever-ready katana. A bit further back Rick singlehandedly struggles to keep pace, managing to barely bridge the gap as they stopped for breaks to only start again once he caught up. Occasionally bodies of walkers told them they were headed the right way to following someone at least, if not the tiny signs and her gentle prodding in a sixth sense direction.

He paused as they hit the train tracks. A broken wooden sign and a mess of gravel told them they hit the right place. Not even half asleep Rick needed any help to spot the signs, simply sitting down and taking the tie it would take to investigate for a well-deserved rest.

The sun was as ready to drop as they all were. Pushed to the total limit and Michonne already making a small fire to cook the rabbits they'd dragged around all day. She had the stony face that demanded that there would be no move movement until the next morning, crack of dawn if it must be- but right now, right now they were resting.

Daryl closed his eyes trying to figure out the mess of flyaway gravel. He followed the fleeing stones to where a walker body lay, impaled with some sort of home-made wooden sign. The break in the wood holding up had been kicked forcefully, and the messy blows to the walkers face told him the person who put them down had to have a few swings before making it work. That could be Beth, he hope to god it wasn't the people she was wit. If they kidnapped her, he needed them to be at least competent enough to defend themselves and her. Trying to quieten the voice in his head, Daryl chewed on the rabbit as he joined the campfire.

It might be possible, just possible that Beth tried to escape again, and from the mess she made a decent attempt.

Yes, that meant she was with them still and that more than likely they had tightened watch on her. However, the most important thing was that it showed him one thing- Beth was still defiant. She was still fighting, still alive and wanting to run back to him.

They woke up, early hours on the unforgiving comfort of the train tracks. From the morning light you could understand the stale smell of heat- streaks of hot smoke filled the air. Recent, if not still burning. He sat in wonder for a moment, loving the beautiful sight of arson. Then he begrudgingly woke the other who were less than committed to his vigorous shaking. The watched the sky with lesser enthusiasm than him, but complied with brushing gravel off themselves and consenting to yet another day walking.

Daryl weaved them toward the smoke, following in seemed the same root at the occasion sporadic clues that had been left, stones out of place and mud scuffed. A house of sorts was smelt way before it was seen, and the renewed energy seemed to buzz in all of them.

There was a bottle of bourbon where the trees met the soft grassy garden of where the house once stood. It must've been small, nothing more than that cabin where they had moonshine and shouted at each other. The kinda place that brews moonshine and men hunt in the early hours 'cause they can't be damned with humans anymore, retirement or one abuse too far. The smell of broken homes and ask clung to everything, fiery and still ablaze with small licking flames. To Michonne, Carl and Rick- this looked like a fight gone wrong a need to cover something up perhaps or a horrible campfire accident.

The whiskey bottle and her prints told him it was a sign. He felt himself grinning and nothing was topping the smile widening his face. Taking one look at the burnt remnants before heading back into the wood to track and catch up, he saw her solitary figure there.

His Beth in perfect mockery of the real living and fighting Beth. Facing the flames with a walker-stained polo, middle finger pointed at the building and infectious smile plastered as widely as his own.

_**Please Review for your thoughts and thank you to all those who already have! xxx**_


	5. Chapter 5

**_We have a Beth P.O.V for a while! :o tell me what you think of that! _****_J_********_Anyway hope you enjoy- I admit I'm waiting for a muse to hit me, writing is so tiring at the moment and only 'Burn it all' is giving me any ideas that I can adequately type out without sounding too fluffy or too depressing…._**

The sky reflected the stars so beautifully Daryl found himself staring like some pussy of a girl might do. What's worse he found himself how long ago there had been a night as clear as this, not since they burnt that fucking shack down- that surly was a sign_. __**God? Are you**__**going to let me find her? **_The heavens were exactly as that day, a deep blue bordering onto nothingness or endless depth_s _depending how you squinted. He would love to sleep, instead he thought of the parallels of that night to this- the smell of burning still there in the air after another three day's walk- perhaps clinging to their clothes, the weariness and the stars in the night sky. The same as that night. The same as her eyes that night.

Beth had looked at him, her voice breaking with emotion. Normally he would take that time to run- to get himself out before he was in too deep. But like the frog in cold water he was somehow realising how invested he had been, even then, when she had looked at him, with heartbreak in her eyes. And he hadn't been able to look away. The weight of her words had punched him in the stomach.

**_''_****_That's how incredibly stupid I am'' _**

Her eyes filled with sad tears, he was sure if he leant in closer he would see the sad reflection of Herschel Greene at Christmas playing with a tiny Beth- or some shit like that. But that's why he was scared of getting close, in case her pain was somehow projective of his own or so perpendicular that their meeting point crushed him into a million pieces. He hated stories of happy childhoods and the chances of the vast majority. Call it jealousy or whatever you want, but he was bitter still, and honestly the worst thing someone could tell him.

Had he told her how stupid she wasn't? Had he done that for her? He doubted it, very much so. And now he so wished he had so that the eating guilt didn't make his leg twitch to start walking again. They were picking speed, almost breaking the week between them with his persistent pushing and speed and her obvious tries of hindrance. She wasn't fucking stupid, not at all. Sometimes he swore he saw her strategic planning; digging her heels into the hard mud and scuffing the leaves to leave track marks to follow.

**_''_****_Said you could take care of yerself- y'did''_**

She wouldn't like to think that he had doubted her, not for one second. And so after a fitful half-night's sleep he was wrangling the dead to start joining his quest. Rick was mumbling still, beaten up but tough enough to be dignified about it. Daryl nodded at him, deciding a bit of kindness wouldn't kill the man. After all his own son was too scared to look at him, and Michonne was flittering between the same emotions and knowing it was needed to survive. He heard them whispering behind him. And honestly it didn't matter to him what they said, as long as they moved briskly and quickly with no gapping in the pace.

It was about noon. They had crossed another road and were deep into the next cut of the great expanse of Georgia when the following light clues became a lot more suspicious. A confusion of floor steps and leaves littered the floor, over and over for the next few miles. The disturbances seem to be headed both toward them and in front of them. Broken twigs in both directions and obvious reluctant disturbances made Daryl's head prick up to looking straight ahead.

And he knew someone, and hopefully someone blonde and small, was making a real attempt to break free. She hadn't given in yet, and until he found proof that she had he was going to keep going, even if he was saving her from hell's entrance. She was taking care of herself, even if this wasn't her. Somewhere Beth Greene was alive and kicking, biting the hand that fed her with any luck.

**_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Beth scrubbed at the cold water and shirts with less lack lustre than a strung up walker might. She knew her insolence would get her another few painful smacks across her face, and the cold cries she made would only entertain them. Her mind was drifting everywhere these days- mostly to any act of rebellion she could manage. Upholding a promise to herself that she wouldn't become another chained up soulless compliant to their game. Oh no, she was going to give them hell- and then someone would find her and save her or maybe she could get herself.

The metal chain bracelets had been too loose for her frame wrists, days after the prison eating snake precariously had done nothing to help her weight maintenance. They slipped off with a small amount of manoeuvring and spit, something she took advantage of a good few times. Running into the woods, barefoot and frantically she often had only twenty minutes of freedom before they dragged her screaming back to their camp. Then she was admonished and then she was-no she wasn't thinking about that.

**_''_****_I've had it with this suck ass camp!''_**

Fucking hell, Beth. You didn't know what you had when you had it did you? What she wouldn't give for barbeque snake and Daryl at this exact moment, in fact she might weep for the sheer joy of being back in those miserable days. Now she was lucky to see him at all, even in her head- and though it began as an exercise of pulling teeth, she loved being around Daryl Dixon. He was family, and he was home. And though he was awkward he taught he how to survive. Something she had done, thank you very much.

He appeared so often in her fantasies of escape when she first arrived, so hard to pick apart from reality. But the six days she had actually been in the camp not travelling to it, wore down her hope of immediate rescue. Re-planning was difficult, often using coincidental discovery form Rick Grimes or her sister, then she'd scream and they would hold her tightly. She stood in her slumped day dream.

**_Her hands were sore from hours upon hours of cleaning, from the beatings and from their never-ending fidgeting with the new rope cuffs she had around her. Never had any woman been so sneaky, she had been told countless times from the voice of the man that took her. For such a small thing, she didn't half wriggle much. But that worked to her advantage, it pissed them off and actively showed some sort of defiance this place sorely lacked. The rope was frayed and unravelling from her sharp broken nails, and the water hid her tries to untie the knots. Asking the other three girls was useless, they stared blankly or got her in trouble so they got a night off from the relentless torture. It was too risky. _**

**_As usual it took only twenty minutes to slip out one thin wrist, having snapped the last of the unwound cords. If they caught her thing time there was going to be another change of restraint-that much she was sure off. Or perhaps they'd lock her up inside and there'd be no chance at all to get free. The fences were easy to climb out of, the long spikes faced outward and so covered her for the first part of the chase. Once she hit the open ground, the men would see her and start to follow, or they'd know where she was if any of them came to see how the women's work was coming along. _**

**_They had hoped bare-feet would stop her running around like a mad child. But Beth Greene had grown up on a farm, the hard ground and leaves did nothing to hurt her, and the forest seemed only to encompass her from them as long as it could, like she was some woodland sprite. That she could've been, long blonde hair streaking out behind her as she ran, long strides from impossibly long legs and a beautiful face twisted with exertion. The shouts were behind her, and so she only urged her feet to slam into the ground harder. _**

**_They would follow her, easily. She always headed the same way, back to where she knew Daryl had been. Perhaps it was stupid, but it was the only way she knew, and there was no use being weaponless in the void of trees to die of starvation or walker attack. Her lungs were on fire, and the pain was almost enough to make her wish she cared less about finding someone to save her so she could stop and give herself in. but no, that couldn't happen. Figures were the flashes of greys and browns, circling her like a caged animal but her legs only wobbled with the effort of keeping it up. Not her greatest attempt, not by like the first where she managed a whole two miles before they found her crouched behind a large oak hoping they pass her by. But it was maybe the last, before they broke a leg or something to stop her. It had been threatened. _**

**_Two arms wrapped around her legs, making her fall into the ground with no time to protect her. As she got her breath back, scrambling hands found purchase on the waistband of her jeans, sitting up onto her legs so she couldn't move as the other vultures circled in to join them. She kept moving and fighting, though her body only wanted to sleep and stop the endless abuse she had been giving it with all these extra exertions. The man slapped her across the face, and for a moment she wanted to die. Her head felt fizzy, as it always did when that noise was made against someone's face. The dirty tricks wouldn't stop her, twisting into the shelter her arms Beth let out a loud scream. Hoping walkers might join her and make it harder for them, if not kill one or two with any luck. _**

**_The man panicked trying to shut her up with a large hand, she simply bit him and kept screaming. The rawness of her agonised voice seemed to bounce off the trees into the cavernous continuation of freedom as they held her back. A cloth was put over her mouth and tied roughly, gagging her completely. They pulled her up, strapping a make shift tie for her hands with a thin piece of cord, but knowing she had no chance of getting away again. One man threw her roughly over his shoulder, knocking the wind out of her and making bile rise slightly. The stunned Beth barely made any moves to comprehendingly stop them tying her ankles together. _**

**_Just as they shrugged her on a bit snugger, one hot hand on the back of her thighs, the man who tied her legs fell to the ground. A single arrow fit snuggly into his eye socket. So here it was, the part of the day dream Daryl Dixon came running in like fucking Robin Hood to save the day. The group of now-seven men split. She was carried off along with another two of the captors, moving quickly through the woods back to raise alarm at camp. Days of day dreams told her that now was the time she woke up, just before she got to see his face-_**

**_But the jogging feeling in her stomach wasn't stopping, in fact it felt painful and dull. Her wrists hurt and the heat of the hand of her were focusably existent. Blinking her eyes a few times, Beth gasped. _**

She was awake.

**_x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Daryl heard a scream. A long, raw and panicked scream. Michonne glanced at him, for what felt like centuries they let their faces drop but only milliseconds later they were clambering through the woods to run at the noise. Carl and Rick stumbled behind, soon falling out of pace.

Never in all his fucking life did he think he would actually have felt happiness at witnessing eight men tie up little Princess Greene. But there were other emotions too, frankly he was pissed someone got to the idea of gagging her before he had, and they had no right because her incessant annoying nature wasn't all that bad when she wasn't swearing at you and running from your camp. For fuck's sake, Daryl, focus. He shot his crossbow, still running but it hit the target true. He saw Michonne smirk as the men ran.

Beth disappeared from his sight as guns were pulled, Michonne veered off to the left, distracting enough for him to rip another bolt into some guys neck. The burbling sounds of his death mixed in with the sounds of unpractised gunshot reverberating of ancient bark. Sneaking a peek round he got one man in the right shoulder, not ideal but enough to stop him shooting for the time being. The blood loss might kill him, but somehow that still seemed more humane than the noise made as a katana struck the third man's heart.

Leaving Michonne to deal with the problem at hand, he started running in the direction of Beth. Her blonde hair in the wind and limp body moving independently in defeat as she was carried away. He didn't even feel the burn anymore, his head only focusing on one thought. Get to Beth. He had never been so sure of anything, right now he would die to just see her really standing there not the fucking visions he saw across his vision, the real thing. Beth alive and bruised and so imperfect in her brokenness. He'd take her however he could.

The camp they were at had large spikes around the entire perimeter, he saw the gates shut and the one guard on duty jump down. He wasn't expected for a few minutes and so now was his chance. It was easy enough to, when living, manoeuvre yourself between the tight spikes and slip into the camp. He landed in what seemed to be an enclosed area, sheets were starched and hung up and he honestly questioned what time era he had rolled into.

''You've fucking had it girl-I'm not taking this shit. You crash my car, burn our fucking half-way house and then run off after all we've done for you.'' The voice was rough and whispering, it was coming closer along with the stumbling noise of boots and struggling.

Panicking Daryl edged toward a small line of sheds, opening one and slipping in. He didn't expect to be met with the dead but curious gaze of two women, their hands bound in loud metal chains. Worrying for a moment, he held his breath, looking at their plain mattresses and empty faces. But they made no move to help him, or to harm him. Looking away he heard the scuffle of boots and angry whispering go past their door and the noise of another wooden shed slam.

He knew that Beth was there. She was so close he swore that he could feel her tingly optimism radiating through the air. He just needed twenty minutes and they'd be running in the woods, leaves and branches hitting their arms and faces to prove they were still alive to see one more day. And every footstep of his would match hers like some freaking choreographed dance that was innately born in both of them.

A voice in his head told him he was too late to save the silent staring women here, but he left the door open nevertheless. Sneaking, crossbow raised to the shuffling sounds of the next shed. He was willing to use the element of surprise to its greatest advantage in case of a hostage situation. Beth was coming with him, in one piece and hell wasn't going to stop that. He heard her small whimpering protests, worried and sickened for a moment. Then there was a loud sickening thud following a more direct, defiant 'no'. Daryl fumbled with the lock on the door, pulling it and shaking it but it wouldn't yield him.

Using his hunting knife he managed to prise the lock of the wooden door, jamming it awkwardly open. The light streamed in to the small space. A mattress like the last room and chains adorning the walls. On the floor was the man who dragged her in here, his own knife jammed in his forehead. He was straddled by the huddled sobbing figure of Beth Greene.

She looked up, hurt and angry. Expecting to see the other men that took her he face softened at his direct gaze, simply staring back at him. For a ridiculous moment neither of them were real, and simply figments of their own imaginations. But they were.

She felt solid and warm to touch, not like the flimsy confusion of his made up Beth. Totally and unabashedly topless, the offended material lying in scraps on the floor. But she simply let him pull her to her shaking legs, to put a tentative hand on his shoulder to check if he could stand the test of reality. Then Beth Greene was in his arms just like that.

She was holding him tightly, and he was encasing her small frame in his arm as if he had done so for years.

He wrapped his large leather vest around her, covering the bare expanse of skin so they could start fumbling through the woods. The noise of others following them only spurned him on faster, pulling her hand behind him. The saviour she promised herself was here after all, giving her grubby leather wings so she could escape far away. Her feet stung and everything ached, but it simply didn't matter. Once again the long golden locks flicked out behind her, the only sign of her flickering hope as if colour kept the idea of good people burning alive.

A day away, somewhere west, Rick, Carl and Michonne were waiting for them to join them. But that didn't slow their hurried running, the smiles that mimicked each other or the ever escalating feeling of total recognition that the slavery was over.

As a child, Daryl would have sworn and cursed, never would he look at the finer details of anything the way he did now- how her tired feet slanted to the right still favouring her stronger ankle or the pain-filled happiness in her eyes- the eyes like the stars from all those nights ago. Instead he had pain upon pain to deal with, so he and Merle went place to place running and hoping eventually the pain would give up and running away wouldn't have to be their option anymore.

At the same time, there she was searching, always searching. She needed to find the good in everything, her faith in what she could see. Catching bubbles in chubby toddler fists, and then deciphering old hymn books after choir practice wanting to know the reason for it all. And it wasn't until she met him that it changed.

He found what he was looking for, and she had finally run away.

Beth looked out at the expanse of stars. Their wide and encompassing nature filling the darkness with sprinkles of light. And nothing in the world had ever made her feel so small, and nothing in the world made her feel so free. With him beside her, his strength radiating in heat from beside her, she was sure she was dying. The ache in her chest was bursting, the tears pilling silently as she simply looked up at the heavens.

Thank you.

He was staring at her, worried she might turn into a rabbit if an arrow caught her, and needing proof to see her. The messy blonde hair was sorely in need of a wash, blood and mud smeared her pale cheeks cut only by the stream of tears. But the imperfection was what he needed. Mucus-faced Beth was a sight for sore eyes, and for the first time he let himself believe it was all real.

**_You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon._**

That was true. And so she was never leaving his sight again.

**_So thank you so much guys for joining this journey with me! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it- and I hope you'll all be nice enough to share your thoughts even if its 'meh, t'was alright I guess'' xxx_**


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